


Make a Wish

by kungfunurse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Artifacts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kungfunurse/pseuds/kungfunurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles wished he could fix this, wished so badly that he could make it up to Scott and somehow give him his life back. But Scott’s old life was gone and it was Stiles’ fault." Or the one where Stiles accidentally sparks a wish, Derek has a breakdown and then deals with his man-pain, and no one can get through breakfast without breaking something.</p><p>Also being a werewolf is more than just having fangs and claws. Grr. I wanted to explore what that might mean, and the different ways humans and werewolves would read the same situations. Surprisingly Derek had a lot to say on the subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! No beta for the fandom, I'm a lone wolf. Awooo! All mistakes are mine, please feel free to leave comments, critiques, and kudos as you like.
> 
> And hey, I now have a tumblr! [Come tumblr me!](http://kungfunurse.tumblr.com/)
> 
> More notes at the end for those with triggers.

Stiles knew what people thought about him. They said he was always talking and couldn’t stay out of trouble to save his life, that he didn't know how to sit still and be quiet. But really, that just showed that people didn’t pay attention. Stiles was the master of laying low, of staying quiet and letting the bad things walk right past him on its way to bigger and badder things. 

The point was, Stiles knew how to be still. Calm. Stealthy even, which is how in a room full of beat up teenagers, he was the only one not bleeding from some part of his body.

Also, the rest of them were werewolves and had done most of the hand-to-hand slashing and growling tonight. 

He wandered aimlessly over to the cases at the end of Deaton’s office, listening with half an ear to Derek yelling at Jackson for being a self-absorbed douche. The thing was, it’d really been a craptastic night and Stiles just needed a minute to stop thinking about it all. 

The glass case was usually locked, but tonight the door hung open. Obviously Deaton had been doing something when they’d interrupted him with their bleeding. He pushed it open further, running a finger over a black marble, then ruffling what looked like a hawk’s feather. On a shelf below was a gnarly, twisted piece of wood with strange symbols etched into it. Stiles ran his fingertips across it, absently pressing his thumb against the grain.

In the other room was Scott, right on cue, yelling at Derek for something. Stiles wanted to sigh or roll his eyes, but the truth was Scott had every right to be mad. He had all the rights. Whatever he was pissed about, it all boiled down to the simple fact that he didn’t want to be a werewolf and hadn’t ever gotten that choice. 

Derek’s psycho werewolf uncle, Peter, had teeth-raped Scott, and it had been all Stiles’ fault. 

Stiles flinched away from his thoughts and rubbed harder. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could stop thinking about the way bones sounded when they crunched and splintered, the way Scott howled in pain when he was gutted and bleeding. He wished he could fix this, wished so badly that he could make it up to Scott and somehow give him his life back. But Scott’s old life was gone and it was Stiles’ fault, just like his mom.

He jumped when a hot hand trapped his on the twisted wood and he opened his eyes to find Derek glaring at him.

“You should know better than to mess with the things Deaton keeps back here.”

“I know, I know!” Stiles snapped back, his trapped fingers getting mashed into the wood. “I just got distracted. It’s just, sometimes I wish... I don't know.” He flailed with his other hand. “All of it.”

Derek’s eyes were some strange shade of mood changing color, always different depending on the day, or the light, or whether they were bright red and burning with alpha rage. Right now they looked a little bit shocked, a little sad.

He carefully removed Stiles’ hand from the wood and just stared at it, palm up, and for a bizarre minute just held it while he rubbed his thumb into Stiles’ skin. 

“Me too,” he finally admitted.

Stiles gaped at him, too surprised to even get his hand back. Where was the righteous werewolf rage? The burning man-pain? The patented Hale Glower?

Derek shook the mood off and sliced him a glare. Then he stalked away, leaving a confused Stiles behind him. "Hey, did we just have a moment?" Stiles called after him. He started to grin, already feeling better. "C'mon, don't just walk away. Where's the love?" God he loved giving Derek shit. No matter how bad his night was, there was nothing that a little Derek-baiting couldn't make better.

He straightened his shoulders and went back to collect his best bud. And if his hand tingled a little from where Derek had been holding it, well, werewolves ran hot. Everyone knew that.

He was so focused on getting back to the group that he missed the soft chime in the air behind him.

*_*_*

Stiles groaned and rolled over, the hard floor digging into his hipbones. What the hell? Why wasn’t he in bed? He heaved a huge sigh and cracked an eye open, then slammed it shut.

He tried opening two, just for variety. Nope. Just, no.

The room was dusty and packed full of boxes. It smelled like an attic, or somewhere you’d shut things away that you didn’t want to see or sell. The real problem was that the shape of the room was familiar, and the window on the far side was _really_ familiar. “What the hell happened to my room?” 

Everything was gone. No bed, no desk, no laptop. He scrambled to his feet and searched his pockets. No phone.

“OK guys, ha ha. Very funny. You played a good one on the poor human. Now give me my stuff back!” He twisted his mouth stubbornly and threw open the window, expecting to see Isaac and maybe Jackson outside under the tree, laughing it up and surrounded by his stuff.

Nothing. And by nothing, he meant not just an absence of douchey werewolves, but no tree. The first beat of fear gripped his chest. He’d loved that tree. He’d saved that tree from certain doom back when his Dad was less about saving trees and more about protecting Stiles from hypothetical cat burglars. It’d taken him years to talk his dad out of cutting it down. He’d finally relented just about the time worse things than burglars had started using Stiles’ window, and really that was Stiles’ life in a nutshell.

And now it was gone. The tree, that was. Not Stiles’ life. Nope. Still here, kicking it in a dusty old boxed up room that he could have sworn last night was his bedroom.

Right.

On second thought, the tree’d had a pretty good life, probably survived longer than Stiles would. God rest ye merry tree, time to focus on the real problem. Where the hell was his tech? A guy could only go so far without checking his texts. Or googling some freaky creature of the night to keep it from eating your best friend. Or calling the local alpha to keep from being eaten yourself. Christ, he had chemistry homework to do.

Stiles tripped over a box on the way out and frowned at what spilled over the dusty floor. Clothes mostly, little shirts and pants, some socks made for a really small human. With a shiver he recognized one of the novelty tees and he spun and got the hell out.

Ok, so something was officially creepy. Fine, Stiles ate creepy for breakfast with a side of curly fries. 

With stealth born of really painful experience, he slipped down the stairs, walking on the sides to avoid the noisy ones. Something smelled really great, like bacon. And that had better not be bacon, because his dad was on a strict no-grease diet.

A wounded, hurt little sound punched its way out of his chest. At the stove, golden curls bounced as a short, pretty woman made eggs. She was humming, and god, Stiles would never forget how she used to hum, the way it sounded like happiness.

“Mom?” he croaked.

She turned with a gasp and dropped an egg, and Stiles was stunned, something inside him breaking wide open. It was her, really honestly her, and he took another step just as the front door opened.

He gaped at his dad, who had stopped smiling as soon as he laid eyes on Stiles.

“Hold on now, son,” the Sheriff said in his ‘you’re in so much trouble’ tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Dad, what’s going on?” And ok, screw all his supposed experience with the crazy, he desperately wanted his dad to make everything normal right now. Because Mom was dead, alright? She was gone and Stiles had been fucking broken, smashed like that egg on the floor. He’d been trying to put pieces of himself back together without her, and even succeeding a little, and to have her standing here was pushing all those sharp, jagged edges into his too-full chest and it made him breathless from the pain.

“Now, son, I don’t know what you’re thinking-“

“Oh hon,” his mom interrupted, her voice just like Stiles remembered. “Don’t be so hard on him. Look at him, the poor dear is shaking.” Stiles blinked, a strange thought creeping through his brain.

“He’s trespassing, Mona. I’ll have to call it in.”

“Dad?” Stiles asked, suddenly terrified. “Dad?”

His dad sighed, putting on a gentle but firm expression. “I know you must be feeling very confused right now, son.” And yes, he really, really was. 

“He looks so familiar, John,” his mother mused. “Do we know you, dear?” 

“He’s probably a runaway from the juvvie center, off his meds." 

She frowned at Stiles in sympathy, and Stiles was sucking in great heaving breaths of air, but it wasn’t helping because there was no air left in the world. She reached for him and he backed up, just, _no_. He bolted for the door, past his dad who shouted at him to stop, running and running until he found himself in a familiar neighborhood, his side cramping, awful moaning noises coming out of his mouth.

“Scott, Scott, Scotty-Scott. You gotta help me,” he panted, stumbling up the McCall’s driveway. “C’mon, werewolf hearing, activate! Wake up dude!” He thumped on the front door, then kicked it a few times for good measure. “Scott!”

The front door opened and Scott’s mom answered with kind of a pissed look, actually. “Scott,” he blurted. “Sorry, Mrs. McCall, sorry to bug you. I gotta see Scott, like yesterday. Total emergency.”

“I’m sorry,” she frowned, eyeing him. “Scott’s not home right now. Should I tell him someone from school came by?”

Oh holy hell. Stiles grimaced and pushed the heel of his hand against his eye, wiping off sweat. Not tears. Definitely not tears. “I’m not someone from school. It’s me. Stiles. You know, Scott’s best bud since third grade? The kid who gets in way too much trouble for a Sheriff’s son? Stiles Stilinski?”

All the kindness dripped out of her face like water. “I don’t know who you think you are, young man, but that joke is in really poor taste.” He was left staring at the door that just slammed in his face, and he just, what the fuck.

Stiles was reeling. There was actual reeling happening here, and it felt like the whole world was spinning. He stumbled his way down to the curb and slumped on it, too tired to go further.

OK, so far he’d woken up in what should have been his room, to parents, plural, who didn’t remember-

His mind shied away from that. It was way too soon to even think about that. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, forcing himself to focus. So people, non-specific, not-to-be-named people, didn’t recognize him. His room was a storage closet and he didn’t have his phone.

Obviously this was some kind of hideous alternate reality, because he had to be in some sort of hell-verse if he didn’t even have his phone.

Ok. Supernatural bullshit happening. Check. What did he usually do when the crap hit the fan?

He forced himself to stand, a grim look on his face. Who did all the weirdness always follow around? Who caused it half the time and didn’t know how to clean it up the other half?

Yeah. Derek Hale.

Somehow this had to be his fault, and even if it wasn’t, he had to help him fix it. He owed him. Or something. 

He walked slowly away from Scott’s, pausing just once when he saw someone ride up to the McCall’s, swing off their ten-speed and take a puff on an inhaler. His vision got all blurred, but that happens when a guy gets really tired. Stiles had run a long way. He bit his lip and turned away again.

He’d like to say that he ran with gritty endurance to the Hale house, all the way out on the edge of town, but mostly he just walked the shambling walk of the really really exhausted. He had time to wonder what he’d do if Derek didn’t recognize him, but then waved it off. It didn’t matter if Derek thought he was crazy or whatever. Derek was going to help him. He just had to.


	2. Finding Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles finally makes it to the Hale house, if not actually inside it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to make this chapter more about advancing the plot and less with the desperate snuggles, but neither of the boys would listen to me.
> 
> Just a short chapter since I'm out of town this weekend and wanted to keep to my schedule. Enjoy!

It was almost sunset by the time Stiles made it down the long driveway to the Hale house. It looked huge and gorgeous in the fading daylight, more like one of those old-time plantation houses than something you’d see in modern day Beacon Hills. It was lovingly preserved, as though it’d never seen a day of neglect.

Or fire.

Stiles blinked in shock as more pieces snapped into place. The Hale fire had never happened. Which meant that Derek’s family had never been murdered, and Peter had never gone psycho…

Which meant that Scott was still human. 

He shook his head, remembering Scott’s inhaler. The Hales were alive, his _mom_ was alive, Scott was human, and Stiles was… dead? Never been born? And forget what it meant, how the hell had it happened?

Even from outside, the house was noisy. Stiles could hear conversations through the windows, kids shrieking and playing, adults laughing. It was full of people, er, werewolves. Wolf-people. Um, yeah, he was losing it. 

Well, the Hales hadn’t come out en-mass to growl at him for trespassing, so maybe that was just a Derek thing. And really, he hadn’t walked all this way to lose his nerve at the site of a perfectly nice family evening. Nothing at all freaky going on here.

Rubbing both hands over his face and throwing his arms out, as though he could throw away all the thoughts buzzing in his head, he stumbled up the porch steps and knocked.

A gorgeous looking woman answered. She smiled wide and bright, and the smile wasn’t familiar, but she had Derek’s eyes.

“Hey,” Stiles smiled back, aware that he was sweaty and dirty and probably smelled like fermented teenaged awfulness.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, um. I’m looking for Derek?” It came out like a question. The woman tipped that one eyebrow up, and oh, that’s where Derek got it from.

“Are you alright, young man? You seem a little… shaken.” 

Stiles didn’t know why this is what undid him, after a full day of handling himself just fine, but suddenly he was fighting to keep his face from crumpling and his throat from closing up. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he rasped out, wiping away some more not-sweat. “I just really need to talk with Derek. Please, can I see him?”

Her smile faltered, and no, Stiles couldn’t handle being turned away again. What if he started yelling for Derek? Would the Hales run him off their property? Hamstring him like a sick wildebeest? Or God, call his dad, the Sheriff, who doesn’t know him, who won’t – 

His vision started to grey out and he realized distantly that he was hyperventilating. Another woman grabbed his shoulder, hard, and shook him. The fog cleared a little and he was staring up at Laura Hale’s face, alive and whole and looking nothing like the corpse Stiles dug up the night his whole life became a horror show.

“He’s in the woods. He was looking kind of funny, said he needed some alone time. Maybe if he had someone to talk to…” Laura trailed off and looked at Stiles speculatively.

Thank you lord. “Yes, great, just point me in the right direction.”

There was a path leading into the forest, pretty close, actually, to where Derek had made his betas clear the woods last week. He wondered if he should call for Derek, but surely the guy knew he was here. Maybe he was avoiding him. Maybe he just didn’t want tired, sweaty teenager musk messing up his evening constitutional. 

He heard a strange little hiccup and almost jumped out of his skin. Derek was just above him, curled up in the branches of a huge oak tree, his eyes wild.

“Um, do you know me?” Stiles spread his hands wide, trying to look harmless. He was on the verge of freaking out again, because in all the bad stuff that’d gone down with psycho werewolves and murderous old men and freaking lizard-monsters, he’d never seen Derek look as strange as this.

“We don’t know each other,” Derek grated out. “We’ve never met. Get off my property.”

“My mom’s alive,” Stiles blurted out. “And my dad, he doesn’t know me, either.” He slumped down on the ground, defeated. 

He heard a soft thump and looked up to see Derek crouched over him, right in his face, his eyes crazy and searching. 

“She was making eggs,” Stiles explained.

Derek grabbed Stiles shoulders as though he was trying to get away. "I said get off my land." Which. Fuck. Where would he go? There was nowhere to go. “Scott’s mom thought I was a new transfer.” His voice broke right in two at the thought that Scott wouldn’t know him. 

Derek shook him a little, then pulled him in, and Stiles thought this was it. This was how his surreal, frankly horrifying day would end. With his throat finally torn out by Derek freaking Hale. 

It took him a minute to realize that no rending or tearing was happening. Instead, Derek was taking deep, puffing breaths in Stiles’ hair and at his neck and oh, right. He was scenting him. Stiles’ poor, abused heart started to slow down, unable to keep up Defcon level alerts any more. Then Derek whispered, “My little sister just got home from school.”

“What?” Stiles tried to pull back, but Derek’s arms were like steel around him, holding him close.

“My whole family’s alive and I don’t know what to do."

Derek remembered. Oh thank the fucking lord, he remembered, and Stiles threw his arms around Derek and just clawed his nails into Derek’s back like he was gonna disappear. He held on so tight that he could almost feel the broken shards of Derek’s life grating inside him. 

And Christ, if just seeing his mother was enough to make Stiles feel like he was having a heart attack, having a whole family full of broken lives slicing through your chest would make anyone sit in a tree and make crazy eyes.

“We don’t know each other, Stiles,” Derek was saying again. “We’ve never met.” And fine, obviously Stiles was going to have to be the not-crazy one, and somehow having arrogant, growly Derek Hale shaking apart in his arms gave him enough strength to pull it together. 

“I know you, Derek. I know how messed up you are.” He locked his hands together, still holding on. “And you know me. You know all the ways I’ve screwed the pooch, and lied to my dad, and about Scott, and lacrosse, fuck.”

Derek finally pulled back to stare into Stiles’ face from bare inches away. “You still smell the same, I, it must be you.” Stiles thunked his head down against Derek’s shoulder, boneless with relief. Thank god, Derek knew him. Someone knew him, which meant that he wasn’t crazy, he was real, he really was.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, too exhausted to do anything but cling to him, now. Derek’s hand came up, trembling and dirty, to rub the back of Stile’s head. 

“Don’t know,” Derek mumbled, lips pressed against Stiles’ temple. “Thought I was alone.”

“You’re not.” And this was weird, right? This should be weird, having Derek, like, holding him and pressing little not-kisses into his scalp. Except that weird meant that it should stop, and Stiles really kinda needed all this strange gentleness from Derek to shore up his sanity. So nope, not weird. 

Derek grunted and pulled him in closer. “I don’t want to go back to the house,” he confessed, like it was a bad thing. “They’re all, and it should be _good_. But somehow it just makes everything worse.“

“I know,” Stiles choked out, stroking Derek’s hard, trembling spine. “We’ll figure this out. Promise.” 

And suddenly Stiles understood how his dad had lived through his mom’s death. Having someone depend on you made you stronger. Derek needed him to be sane and smart. He needed Stiles to be the guy with the plan. Stiles felt something huge and subtle shift inside him, and he unclamped his other hand to stroke at Derek’s hair.

“This is probably your fault,” Derek muttered, heaving a huge sigh that, together with his ridiculous chest, almost had his heart sharing space with Stiles’ ribcage.

“Nope,” squeaked Stiles. “The way I see it, this is all on you.”

Derek huffed, a tiny, sarcastic breath of normality, and Stiles grinned for the first time since he woke up.


	3. Knowing You, Knowing Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our intrepid heroes actually make it inside the Hale house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to feel the need to apologize for all the internal monologuing, but apparently not enough to make it stop. But at least there's more snuggles! That's good, right?

Holding Stiles was oddly soothing. Derek breathed in the normal, sane, Stiles scent of him and felt his muscles unclench, one at a time. It was as though he could finally settle back inside his own skin.

Unfortunately, Stiles was a mess. He smelt like he was ready to collapse, and Derek would bet he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink all day. He tried to remember how long humans could go without water.

Well, it didn’t matter. Stiles was here now, and clearly in need of a hot meal and a safe place to sleep. Derek felt his instincts overriding his confusion and guilt, grounding him in this lanky, mouthy, indispensable human. Stiles wasn’t actually part of Derek’s pack, but right now he was the closest thing to it. And obviously Stiles needed someone to protect and provide for him, so Derek wouldn’t put up with any arguments. They were, at least temporarily, Pack. 

Stiles seemed to agree with this, since he’d come looking for Derek in the first place. Derek was never sure how much humans really understood about his kind, but Stiles had always had a peculiarly wolfy bent to him. For a human, he had good instincts.

And as an alpha, Derek could do what he’d failed at by himself. For Stiles, he could get up and go back to his family. All day long they’d touched him and given him worried, loving looks, and it had made him want to scream. _Can’t you see I’m a monster? I don’t deserve your kindness!_ Until finally his shame and self-hatred had driven him from the house, unable to stay, but incapable of going far. 

But now Stiles needed him, so it was time to stop whimpering like a pup and grow a pair. 

“C’mon, time to go.” He tugged Stiles to his feet, only to catch him when his legs crumpled under him.

“Cramps, shit, ow,” Stiles swore, his scent pained and exhausted and a little pissed off. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“The house,” Derek scowled, wondering if he should keep supporting Stiles or let him walk the pain off. “You need food.”

Stiles eyes went big, his pupils flared and his heart gave a leap. “Food, oh god yes. Please tell me you cook it first. Wait! Nevermind, I don’t want to know. I’ll just eat my squirrel with my eyes closed.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, decided to split the difference and kept one arm around Stiles’ waist, half supporting and half walking him back to the house.

“Don’t let my mother hear you talking like that,” he warned, and his voice barely cracked when he said it. Thank god, he was finally getting control again. 

“Oh crap, your family. Right.” Stiles frowned and looked down, his scent thready and uncertain. Derek scowled harder, trying to parse what Stiles’ body was saying. Was he afraid of Derek’s family? Did someone threaten him? Or maybe Stiles didn’t think there’d be enough food for him? Which was, frankly, insulting, since Derek’s father was an excellent provider. Hell, maybe he was just trying not to trip over his own feet. Was it dark enough yet that Stiles couldn’t see clearly?

Derek huffed in frustration. Having conversations with humans was like getting only half the words in English. Even bitten wolves took months to learn to speak properly. No wonder humans were always going to war and fighting each other. How they understood anything was a mystery to him.

He decided Stiles was probably just anxious to make a good impression. Again, he had good instincts and of course he’d want to represent Derek’s pack well to his… pack.

“Hey, little air here, hello! Earth to Derek!”

Wincing, he realized he’d squeezed Stiles too hard. 

“What is wrong with you?” Stiles snapped, his scent angry and sour. “If something pisses you off, you have to tell me about it. I can’t help you if you break all my ribs!”

It wasn’t a challenge, even if it sounded like one. Stiles’ whole body was screaming at Derek to get his act together, to make sense and stop acting like a scared beta.

“What color are my eyes?” Derek demanded. If he was right, hell, how had he forgotten about this?

“Yes, fine, you’re pissed, I’m pissed, we’re all pissed off. Don’t think you can intimidate me with your wolfy rage, asshole. God, why can’t you just _talk_ like a normal person-“

“What. Color. Are. My. Eyes.” Derek ground out.

“Red. Just like always, just like they’ve been since… oh shit.” Derek could almost hear the pieces falling in place in Stiles’ mind, and they both turned to stare toward the Hale house in the distance.

“Don’t wolf-out around your family, ok? That might be hard to explain.”

“You think?” Derek scowled, trying to tamp down his fear. He was an alpha, on another alpha’s territory. Which was also his territory. He had a pack to protect, but his family was his pack. His father was his alpha, so Derek needed to submit to him. But he couldn’t submit, not without losing Stiles to another pack.

“Hey look,” Stiles broke into his swirling thoughts. “You can pretend, right? I mean, I can help distract them, or something. We should probably do, like, everything possible to keep them from finding out. Right? Derek?”

Derek heaved a relieved breath, drawing the comforting scent of both of them into his lungs. Yes, of course Stiles would understand. He wouldn’t force Derek to challenge his father, and he wouldn’t leave Derek’s pack if Derek pretended to show submission. Thank goodness it was Stiles here. None of his betas would have understood the need for subterfuge. 

“It’ll be fine,” he grunted, getting them moving again. He rubbed his hand down Stiles’ back, allowing his own scent to relax and lighten around them. 

“Sure,” Stiles drawled, still nervous. With a flash of insight, Derek remembered that Stiles couldn’t smell Derek reassuring him, so he continued petting his shoulders and back. Slowly Stiles’ scent lightened too, his body relaxing under Derek’s hand. Derek grunted again, pleased with Stiles’ trust.

“Try to keep the dog jokes to a minimum, and whatever you do, be respectful to my mother. Otherwise my dad will rip your throat out.”

“With his teeth, huh?” Stiles quirked a smile at him. “That apple didn’t fall far.”

Derek smothered a smile; now wasn’t the time for humor. Except that it was good and normal for Stiles to make jokes. It was a sign that he could relax and put his safety in Derek’s hands. 

“C’mon,” Stiles wheedled, “I know I see a smile there. Admit it, you think I’m hilarious.”

“I think you’re touched in the head,” Derek groused, lifting an eyebrow at him. 

“Right back atcha, Sourwolf.” And strangely, Derek felt better too, almost as though Stiles was protecting him instead of the reverse. He shook his head to clear the strange thought, but pulled Stiles closer to his side. Ahead of them, the trees opened up into the backyard, the porch light burning in welcome. 

“If your young friend is hungry, he’s welcome to dinner,” he heard his mother say from inside the house. Derek braced himself and locked eyes with Stiles. 

“We’ll be right in, mom,” he said, and saw Stiles’ eyes widen in comprehension. “Tomorrow,” Derek mouthed silently, and Stiles nodded. The determination in Stiles’ eyes made something fierce and proud clench in Derek’s gut. Together they’d get this figured out. He got them moving again, and brought Stiles in to meet his family.

*_*_*

This day was officially the longest Stiles had ever been awake for, and that included the time he was ten and Scott had dared him to superglue his fingers to his eyelids. 

They’d no sooner walked inside the cheerily lit house than they were freaking swarmed on by werewolves. From the spastic curiosity of the toddlers, held behind adult’s knees, all the way up to the steely-eyed glint of a bent old grandma wolf. There were more than a dozen people who materialized around them, and Stiles thought deeply uncool thoughts about wolf packs circling their prey.

Stiles knew his heart was hammering suspiciously, and seriously, heart attack before the age of seventeen, here. He tried to play it cool, but when Laura slid behind him and freaking poked at him, he flinched and bumped his shoulder into Derek’s. He knew he was crowding a grumpy, traumatized _werewolf_ , but he couldn’t seem to convince his hindbrain that the pretty brunette next to Laura was less scary than the guy he’d seen rip an alpha’s throat out.

All of the Hales’ eyebrows went up at his invasion of Derek’s space, and Stiles wanted to smack himself. He wished Scott were here to help him figure what sort of werewolvian taboos he was breaking.

But Scott wasn’t a werewolf anymore. He was human and happy and he didn’t even know Stiles existed.

Derek’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck, snapping him out of his misery.

“Who’s your friend, Der?” Laura asked, smirking at the protective hand on Stiles. “We didn’t get his name, earlier.”

Stiles plastered on his best smile. “Oh, hey, I’m Stiles. Sorry ‘bout that.” He shrugged, making a gesture that was supposed to encompass everything from his freak-out on their porch to his lack of basic social skills. “I was just in a hurry, looking for Der.” The hand gripped his neck harder. “…reck. Derek. Looking for Derek.” He grinned again, wondering if he could explain kicking the big jerk in the shin.

And really, Derek needed to chill. Stiles could deflect their curiosity away from Derek and his alpha-ness with one hand behind his back. No way did he want to tell this happy, curious, _enormous_ family about the fire that they’d all been freaking murdered in. He looked at the kids, their eyes wide and trusting. Just… no. 

Back in the woods, he thought he’d made it clear that he’d do whatever it took to protect Derek’s family from the truth. He knew that Derek didn’t think he deserved to keep anything good in his life, but that was before Stiles had had his big… whatever. Epiphany. He’d protect Derek, his family, and whatever else Derek needed. Serve and protect. They were words his dad lived by, and even if he didn’t remember his son anymore, they were still his legacy to him.

“Derek,” a man’s voice said, and it wasn’t loud, or particularly deep, but the whole room stilled and made way for it. 

“Dad,” Derek said, nodding his head weirdly. 

“We were worried about you, son. Your mother’s been upset all day.”

“Oh, Bill,” Derek’s mom scoffed, and really? A werewolf named Bill? Was that, like, urban camouflage or something?

“Sorry, Dad. Mom,” Derek said, bending his head down. “I was worried about Stiles.” 

Stiles blinked once, hard. Hoo-boy. How in the world was Derek gonna get away with lying to an alpha?

Derek rubbed his thumb through the short hairs at the nape of Stiles’ neck, and seriously, this was the wrong time for his body to decide that felt freaking wonderful. Goosebumps chased up Stiles’ arms and he had to clamp his jaw to suppress a full on shiver. What the hell?

“You could have told us, son,” Bill said, eyeing Stiles. “Your mother and I suspected, you know.”

Any other time, Stiles would have given a month’s allowance to see the look on Derek’s face. He reared his head back, his eyes huge, his mouth soft and open in surprise. And what was Stiles doing staring at Derek Hale’s mouth?

“Told you he liked guys,” Laura smirked.

Stiles’ head snapped to stare at her.

“Leave your brother alone,” Derek’s mom scolded, sounding like anyone’s mother. “We’re just glad the two of you made up. Stiles, I’m his mother, you can call me Talia.”

So apparently they didn’t know their son was a time-travelling alpha werewolf, they just thought he was gay. Super.

“You’re welcome into our home,” Bill said, now looking straight at Stiles. 

“Um, thanks,” Stiles ventured, sliding a look over to Derek that he hoped clearly communicated ‘get us the hell out of this!’ 

Derek’s decoder ring was apparently on the fritz, because all he did was nod his head and pull Stiles closer. He watched Derek blush at the floor, and he suddenly wondered what Derek was putting out there that made his folks think... things.

Derek cleared his throat. “Stiles can’t go back to his house. His parents don’t want him there. Because of me.”

And holy crap, that was actually a very literal statement of fact without remotely resembling the truth. Stiles always thought he was good at making up stories, but he stood in the presence of a master.

The whole tenor of the pack shifted, and suddenly Stiles wasn’t being closed in on by curious predators, but surrounded by a protective family. He grimaced in what he hoped was a pitiful manner and leaned harder against Derek.

Talia took Stiles’ face in both her hands, her eyes bright and caring. “You poor boy. No wonder you were in such a state.” She rubbed her palms on his cheeks, _scent marking_ , Stiles thought wildly, and actually kissed his forehead.

Then Bill stepped up to him and Stiles ducked his head, trying not to look him in the eyes or do anything that might piss him off. A gruff hand reached out and rubbed his head, fingers running through his short hair. “It’s obvious you and my boy already consider yourselves… close.” _Not what he was gonna say_ , Stiles thought, wondering what word he would have used instead. “You’ll stay with us for as long as you like.”

Stiles bit his lip to keep the stupid feeling in his chest from choking him. These people didn’t know him at all, but because Derek vouched for him, they immediately opened their home. “Thanks,” he rasped, blinking rapidly. “Really, thank you.”

“Shower’s upstairs,” Derek murmured. “Let’s get you changed.” And just like that, the inquisition was over. The whole gang broke up, talking quietly amongst themselves as Derek pulled him up the huge wooden staircase that, just yesterday, was a burnt and unstable deathtrap.

Stiles lost his balance and fell into Derek, who looked ready to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. “We’ll get you cleaned up, then you can rest. I’ll bring you supper. You don’t have to sit through a whole meal.”

With a start, Stiles realized that he was being considerate. Derek Hale was being _nice_. What was even more weird was that Stiles felt sort of safe with Derek chivvying him up the steps and into a big en suite. 

Derek left him to get towels, and for the first time Stiles saw his own pale, shocky face in the mirror. After everything that’d happened, he felt like he should look different, like his mother’s being alive should have physically marked him.

Derek joined him in front of the mirror and handed him a fluffy, blue towel. Stiles was shocked all over again by how gentle Derek was being. It actually seemed like Derek wanted Stiles to trust him. Which was good, he reasoned, since that would make it a lot easier for Stiles to help him. 

Derek hesitated, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Stiles’ temple, and that, right there, was the outside of enough. He officially needed to go to sleep, right now, before any more freaky things happened to him today. 

He waited until Derek pulled away first, though.


	4. Breakfast at the Hale House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein more things break at breakfast, including a little slice of Stiles' brain, Stiles is secretly a bad-ass, and to no one's surprise, Derek has manpain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, two chapters in a week! Honestly guys, this one kicked my ass. We had several knock-down drag out fights, and I suspect that it won. So if you see anything you particularly like, or anything you think could be improved, please let me know.

Derek woke up in his old bed for the second morning in a row, and he could hear his entire family living and breathing in the house around him. Their heartbeats mingled into a sound that meant nothing so much as ‘home’. Upstairs, uncle Ted was dreaming, and Maria was kicking him in her sleep. Down the hall, Justin was getting it on with his fiancée. The kids were sleeping, and his mom was singing softly as she started breakfast.

Having them back like this was what he’d always wanted, but now that he had it, it felt like a nightmare. No, it felt like _he_ was the nightmare. Every familiar sound made him want to rip something open and watch it bleed. Preferably himself. He was tainted, an accessory to their murders. He loved them so much, and he felt torn between wanting to stay with them forever, and the need to get out before he infected them all.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, it was Stiles. Derek brushed the backs of his fingers along Stiles’ cheek. Stiles, who’d found him and given him a purpose again, who’d barely stayed awake long enough to eat before passing out. He still needed shelter and food, and staying with Derek’s family remained the best way to provide for him. So Derek had to bury the urge to run, and concentrate on his pack.

Stiles snuffled in his sleep and nudged closer to him. Even unconscious, he’d grabbed hold of Derek and refused to let go. Which was fine. Derek pulled him closer, letting the heat and bulk of his body talk to Stiles, telling him on every level that he was safe. None of Derek’s betas were nearly as physical with him as Stiles was, but that was probably because human senses needed to be closer to get good information.

He blushed, remembering what his parents had said last night. It was possible he liked having Stiles close for other reasons, too. The teen was so damn responsive, always zeroing in on Derek’s every move, every expression. He made Derek feel powerful and uncertain all at once. And Christ, but Stiles smelled good.

He was buried in Derek’s bed, wearing Derek’s sweats, curled into Derek like he never planned to leave, and it made a strange, hot pressure expand in his chest. It felt like something that had been scarred shut was pulling itself open. Every breath he took made it ache worse, but for once he didn’t fight it. If something inside him needed to change because of Stiles, then he’d let it happen. He rubbed Stiles’ back, releasing more of their combined scent, and breathed into the ache.

*_*_*

Stiles wasn’t hiding in the bathroom, that would be stupid. He made another face at himself in the mirror. Derek had already gone down to breakfast, leaving Stiles to come in his own time. The entire house of werewolves with their freaky senses probably knew he was done brushing his teeth, and now was just wasting time staring at himself.

See, the thing was, the Hales were being suspiciously laid back. Hello, sixteen year old supposedly dating their twenty-something son? Stiles’ dad would have flipped. He’d even tried to ask Derek about it, mumbling into Derek’s shoulder to muffle his words. It seemed like maybe the Hales knew something else was up, but Derek just gave Stiles a look, like he was so human it hurt Derek’s brain. 

“You don’t smell like you’re underage,” Derek had said, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t we treat you like an adult?” 

He’d leveled the judging eyebrows of doom at Stiles, and Stiles knew that look, too. It was the one that said ‘human social conventions are stupid’. He grabbed Stiles’ hand and smacked a new toothbrush in it. “Kitchen is the first door on your right, bottom of the stairs.” Then he’d kissed Stiles’ temple and stalked out.

So, yeah, that had happened. 

Stiles spent the past fifteen minutes wondering what to do with the knowledge that he smelled like an adult. What factored into that? Did Scott smell adult too? He looked around the bathroom, then lifted his arm and sniffed at his pit. Eau du adult smelled like regular Stiles to him. 

Finally he shrugged, squared his shoulders, and decided he was done distracting himself. It had been beyond interesting, getting to watch Derek in his native habitat, but it was time to get some answers for this whole situation. He and Derek could probably start after breakfast by going to Deaton and-

Stiles clutched at the doorframe, floored by a huge fucking hole in his plans. What made Stiles think Derek would help him? In what universe would Derek want to reverse this? Sure, Stiles had been ready to _make_ him help, but that was before he knew the Hales were alive. What kind of asshole would he have to be to try and take that away from Derek? 

And yeah, maybe Derek had been freaking out yesterday, but he’d get over that, right? All he had to do was keep pretending, and then he could keep his family and everything he’d probably ever wanted. No way he’d throw that away.

And speaking of throwing things away, what about Scott? If Stiles found a way to reverse whatever had happened to himself, was he taking away Scott’s last chance to be human?

If he reversed this, was he killing his mother all over again?

The bathroom was abruptly too small, closing in on Stiles and echoing his harsh breaths back from the tiles. He was alone, fuck, he was trapped. Any move he made meant terrible things for everyone else, and he couldn’t even ask his dad for some sage, fatherly wisdom. His dad would never know or care where Stiles was. There _was_ no Stiles.

But there was a strange pounding in his head. Then the door slammed open and oh, the pounding was actually two hundred-plus pounds of pissed off werewolf crowding him against the wall. 

“What happened, are you hurt?” Derek growled, running his hands down Stiles.

“Lemme go, I’m alright,” Stiles shook his head, trying and failing to push Derek off of him.

Derek didn’t even call him on his lie, just scowled and kept patting him down. And seriously, hands! Hands in sensitive places!

“It’s in my head!” he yelped. “I mean, I was thinking, and that’s what freaked me out, and now you’re freaking out, and dude, chill, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Derek growled, leaving off the groping and using his whole solid, hot firmness to push Stiles into the wall. “You were terrified. Whatever you’re thinking, you have to tell me. I’m your al… person to tell things to,” Derek finished, a pinched look on his face.

And whoa, Stiles could draw a line from point A to B just fine, thank you. Derek had just gone all alpha-protector wolf on his ass. Which begged the question, when had Stiles gotten himself adopted?

He glanced down from Derek’s burning red eyes, and seriously, dude needed to rein it in, to the shirt and sweats that he was still wearing. Derek’s clothes. In Derek’s house. About to go down and eat Derek’s food. 

Oh. Right. 

Derek shook him a little, as though reminding Stiles that his mouth wasn’t moving. Stiles gestured expansively, trying to convey everything that he couldn’t say with, like, hundreds of wolfy ears listening in. Derek seemed to get it, because he sighed and started massaging the back of Stiles’ neck. And seriously, not a werewolf, here. Derek needed to stop with the physical stuff, like yesterday.

Except for how Stiles could practically feel his blood pressure dropping to normal. Again, what the hell?

“We’ll talk later,” Derek growled, steering him out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Stiles could smell something wonderful, and his mouth watered so hard he had to swallow. 

“Sure, breakfast. Good plan.” 

Theories and bits of data collided in his head faster than he could track them. Derek’s behavior, always so random, could actually make sense if Stiles put Derek on the alpha side of the equation, and himself as some sort of human beta? What?

One thing was certain, Derek was at his calmest when he was holding onto some part or other of Stiles. Which meant that he did need Stiles, and possibly even trusted him.

And maybe it didn’t have to be all or nothing. Maybe there’d be a way to fix Stiles’… problem, without hurting everyone else. He eyed Derek sideways, who was walking in lock-step with him, still thumbing the back of Stiles’ neck. 

After all. Stranger things had happened.

*_*_*

Derek had to get the hell away from his family. 

Laura was shuffling around the kitchen in her pj’s and slippers, her hair a mess, practically drowning herself in her coffee. He tore his eyes away from her, realizing yet again that he was tracking her like a hurt pup. It’s just that she was alive, so god damned alive.

Justin leaned over Stiles to grab the salt in front of Derek, and threw him a strange look. “Der, you okay?” His nostrils were flared.

“Fine,” he grunted, grabbing Stiles’ thigh to ground himself. “Just worried about how to make things better.” He tilted his head at Stiles, and Justin flashed them a little smile. “

“Don’t worry, it’ll work out. Rosa’s sister came out to her parents and it just took them a little time.” 

Justin rubbed Stiles’ back, still sympathetic, and Derek almost pulled something trying not to growl. Why the hell was Justin scent marking Stiles? He was Derek’s pack, not Justin’s. 

Stiles leaned over to get the pepper and elbowed him so hard that Derek grunted. He closed his eyes, narrowing his focus to concentrate on Stiles’ body heat next to him. A voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Stiles, pointed out that Justin was just being a good person, and that Derek needed to stop being a dumbass.

He opened his eyes to see Laura staring at him speculatively. He gave her a weak little smile, hoping she wouldn’t pursue it. He never wanted to disappoint her again, but he couldn’t tell her what was wrong. She couldn’t ever know what he’d done.

The scent underlying everyone and everything in the house got stronger, and Derek realized that this, as much as anything, was pushing at his control. His instincts were screaming at him to challenge, to fight, to establish his dominance over his pack for everyone to see and smell.

He looked up submissively and smiled. “Hi, Dad.”

“Derek,” his dad nodded. Everyone in the room turned or acknowledged him, some pushing food from their plate towards him, and Justin even got up and offered him his seat. His dad waved Justin back down, munching on a piece of Laura’s bacon.

Derek grit his teeth. It was right that his family show respect to their alpha. It didn’t mean that Derek was weak. Surely Stiles wouldn’t be swayed by the casual authority his dad wielded. 

He was so busy talking himself down that he almost missed Stiles tense next to him. 

*_*_*

Riding herd on Derek turned out to be a full time job. Stiles was about to give in and climb in his lap, just to free up his hands so he could eat. 

He tossed a look at Bill, wondering if the whole ‘traumatized homeless human’ scenario would cover using Derek like a chair, when a barely glimpsed movement in the corner of his eye made his breath still. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Stiles slowly, so slowly, inched his hand under a napkin to grip an abandoned steak knife.

He didn’t turn his head, everything in him whispering that that would draw the dangerous thing’s attention. It moved further into his line of sight and he bit his lip, glancing up through his lashes.

Oh hell. Peter. The psychotic, undead, werewolf uncle who’d mauled Scott, murdered a ton of people, attacked, mauled, and _possessed_ Lydia, and then continued to saunter around like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

Peter smiled at the pretty brunette from last night, and it was that same smarmy look he’d always had. Stiles breathed out to keep his heart rate slow, tracking him from across the kitchen. No one else seemed to realize they had a psycho murderer drinking orange juice in front of them, and why would they? This Peter hadn’t been burnt in a fire, or gone insane in a coma. This Peter was probably just a normal, run of the mill jackass.

He traced his pinky along the handle, weighing the decision to put it down entirely. Then a thundering, rollicking noise from behind had him coiling in a silent slither of muscle. Two children raced each other down the stairs and threw themselves into the kitchen towards Peter, an unpredictable, hair-triggered murderer. They ran head-first into him and he dropped his juice, glass shattering everywhere, and -

\- Stiles’ arms were pinned to his sides. Faster than he could blink, he was seated firmly on Derek’s lap, unable to do more than wiggle. Derek pried the knife out of his hand, using the table to shield the struggle. “He doesn’t smell insane,” Derek whispered, stubble and hot breath teasing the shell of his ear. 

The kids were jumping and yelling, demanding that Peter watch them again to see who was faster. “Daddy!” the little girl giggled, and hell, Stiles couldn’t deal with this. He twisted in Derek’s grip and buried his face in the broad shoulder, unwilling to see the man he hated surrounded by a loving wife and kids. The murderous asshole didn’t deserve that kind of happiness. He didn’t deserve…the family he should always have had, if the Argents hadn’t murdered them all. Fuck.

Derek was petting his head and neck again, pressing soothing little not-kisses into his hair. Stiles didn’t want to know what the rest of the Hales thought of their son’s sudden urge to snuggle over breakfast. “I need to get out of here,” Stiles whispered, his mouth grazing the smooth, hot skin of Derek’s neck. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Derek shuddered, his lips pressed to Stiles’ temple. “Let’s go.”


	5. Figuring Shit Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Oh, and I apologize for the language, but as a teenaged boy, Stiles refuses to talk to me without it. Go figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! Hope you've enjoyed the ride.

The trip to Deaton’s was pretty silent, both of them too caught up in their thoughts to say much. At least, Stiles was thinking a mile a minute, but who knew what was going on between Derek’s ears. Maybe he was pissed at Stiles for practically knifing his uncle and blowing their cover. Maybe he was daydreaming about chasing cars. Either way, it was so quiet in the Camaro that Stiles could hear Laura’s keys jingling in the ignition. Whatever, Stiles didn’t care. He was fine with Derek ignoring him. Just peachy.

“Alright, enough with the silent treatment!” he burst out. “I’m sorry about almost sticking a steak knife in your uncle, ok? Geeze, get over it already.”

Derek frowned at him, both of his impressive eyebrows low and scowly. “What?”

“I said-“

“I heard you the first time,” he interrupted in that tone of voice that meant ‘you idiot’. “What I meant was, why?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles threw his hands up. “Then why didn’t you ask why? Because you didn’t, you asked ‘what’.”

“Stiles!” Derek snapped, swerving to the side of the road so fast that Stiles’ seat belt choked him. He braked hard, then turned a thunderous expression on him. 

“What?” Stiles demanded.

Derek glared at him. “Why are you sorry?” he grit out.

“Um, hello? I almost knifed Peter in front of your whole family? That would have been a little hard to explain, maybe?”

Derek blew out an exasperated breath and suddenly he was halfway across the console, pinning Stiles against the window. “You acted on instinct to protect the children. Don’t ever apologize for protecting our pack.”

Our pack. Ours. Stiles was practically vibrating with Derek’s hands on his chest and his words in his head. They implied that Derek didn’t think he was a just a tag-along human, but an honest-to-god pillar of his pack. But wait, Stiles was Scott’s best friend, so that meant he was in Scott’s pack, right? Wasn’t that how this worked? Except that Scott was human now, so did that mean Stiles was a free agent?

And anyway, he was human too, so what possible role could he fill? He wasn’t massively strong like a werewolf, didn’t have supernatural healing and couldn’t smell danger from freaking orbit. Any of Derek’s betas could do more to earn their place. In Scott’s pack, all he’d been able to do was-

“Serve and protect,” he blurted out.

“What?” Derek’s eyebrows looked confused.

“That’s what this is about, right? It’s what I can bring to the table. It’s where the human and the werewolf stuff, you know, meet.” 

Derek hummed in thought, tracing a thumb along Stiles’ jaw. “You’re good at it. You’ve always protected Scott.” And hell, Derek sounded like he was proud of Stiles.

“But I haven’t,” Stiles shook his head, getting to the heart of it. “He wouldn’t be a werewolf if it weren’t for me. I’m the one who dragged him out that night to look for a dead body. For your sister, for fuck’s sake. It’s my fault this happened to him. And now finally he’s human, and here I am, looking to take it away from him. Again.”

Derek frowned and moved closer, his eyes boring into Stiles’. “Do you think your best friend would rather have you dead or gone than be a werewolf?”

And that was just, “No, of course not. But he deserves to have his life. He deserved to have a choice!”

“Hm,” Derek grunted, playing with the hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck. “So you’re wondering if you should give up? Not try to get your life back?”

“Doesn’t that make sense?” Stiles asked, wondering if the hair playing-with thing could be a two way street.

“Would that make it better? Does it give him any more of a choice?” Derek was so close now, his breath warm and humid against Stiles’ face. 

“You’re not,” Stiles shook his head. “You’re confusing me. You of all people should know what I’m talking about.”

Derek huffed. “Yeah, I do. I’ve spent years torturing myself just like that.” He seemed to be searching for something in Stiles, because he nodded to himself and continued.

“I tried to use magic to bring my family back, once.” He smirked at Stiles’ expression. “What? You think you’re the only one? I was _this_ close to completing the ritual.”

“What stopped you?” Stiles asked, mesmerized by Derek actually volunteering information about his past. 

“Laura,” Derek shook his head, smiling a broken little smile. “It was blood magic. It would’ve meant killing myself. She found me and kicked my ass so hard, it took me a week to walk straight.” He stared into Stiles’ eyes, as though willing him to get it.

“Oh,” Stiles swallowed. And he wasn’t sure he could believe it for himself, but he could maybe see where Laura had been coming from.

Derek smiled, and it was still sad, but there was more to it. Like underneath the sadness, or around it, there was room for something that maybe looked like hope. Suddenly and fiercely, Stiles wanted to know what that tasted like.

He leaned forward the barest amount and brushed his lips against Derek’s. “Can I, is this ok?” he whispered against Derek’s mouth.

Derek opened his lips and kissed Stiles, as fiercely hungry as the burning in Stiles’ gut. “Yeah, Derek replied, his voice hoarse. “Yes.”

*_*_*

So it took them a little longer than expected to get to Deaton’s clinic. In Stiles’ defense, Derek’s mouth was wickedly soft, except for his sharp, white teeth that made Stiles moan when they bit and worried at his neck. He was going to have a monster-sized hickey, and he was so blissed out by the time they finally got back on the road that he absolutely didn’t care.

Turned out there were all _sorts_ of benefits to being in Derek’s pack over Scott’s. Serious, sexy benefits. Stiles might have to think about how to break it to his best bud that, though they’d always be brothers, the lure of Derek licking his neck had maybe already seduced him to the dark side.

Fortunately, the clinic was pretty empty when they arrived. There was just one lady with her Pomeranian waiting up front. It yapped and growled at Derek from behind her ankles, and Derek actually growled back at it before smirking at Stiles and stalking in back. 

“Ah, Derek, always a pleasure.” Deaton’s mellow voice greeted them. “And who’s your young friend?”

All of Stiles’ good mood evaporated. Of course Deaton wouldn’t know him. God, he was so stupid. 

“This is Stiles,” Derek said, gripping the back of Stiles’ neck. “He’s in my pack.”

“Really?” Deaton looked surprised. “I didn’t realize your family had added another member.”

“Not my family’s pack,” Derek said, taking a deep breath. “Mine.” Then he flashed his eyes, alpha red. 

“Oh my,” Deaton breathed. “Your father, is he…?

“Unaware,” Derek bit out. “And we need to keep it that way. I’ve got no interest in challenging him.”

“Well,” Deaton said, relief written all over him, “I’d be happy to help, of course, but I’m not sure what I could do for you.”

“It’s a spell,” Stiles cut in. It was bad enough that no one but Derek recognized him, but he couldn’t stand listening to them talk as though he actually wasn’t there.

Deaton turned to acknowledge him. “I’ve never heard of a spell that can turn a beta into an alpha.”

“Not that kind of spell,” Derek shook his head, then stalked across the room to the glass cases. “Stiles was messing with some stuff you keep locked up here. He’s a spark. I think he triggered a spell that changed the past.” Derek huffed in frustration. 

“Perhaps it would help if I knew a bit more about things,” Deaton suggested. “Stiles is it? Can you tell me what you touched?”

Stiles shrugged, embarrassed at how obvious it all was. Of course this was because he hadn’t kept his hands to himself. “It was just some twisty wooden thing, with runes burnt into it. I didn’t know it would do all of this.”

Stiles was so used to seeing Derek tense and unhappy in general, that it took him a minute to realize that his back was tense and unhappy about something specific. “Derek?”

“It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here? Where else would it be?” Stiles remembered the tree, gone from his back yard, and shivered. Was this it? Was he really trapped here, forever?

“Is this possibly what you’re referring to?” Deaton asked, waving them over to a book filled with polaroids. And yes, thank god, that was it right there under Deaton’s finger.

“Yes, that thing!” Stiles stabbed at the photo. “I was here with my buddy Scott, who’s a werewolf, and Derek and his pack, and you were patching us up after that thing with the alphas…. um, nevermind. That part’s not important. But I was fiddling with that wooden thing and wishing that I’d never gotten Scott into all of this, and then bam, I woke up, and suddenly it’s all different and no one knows me. No one except Derek.” He ran out of steam and rubbed his hand across his head, suddenly tired.

“I touched it too,” Derek confessed. “And maybe…” he rubbed his forehead. “It was a weak moment.”

“You wished things could be different too?” Deaton guessed, eyeing them shrewdly. Derek nodded.

“Well, I can tell you three things,” he said, closing the book decisively. “Firstly, this artifact doesn’t change the past.”

“What?” Stiles threw his hands up. “How can you say that? Scott’s not a werewolf anymore, my mom’s alive and making freaking breakfast foods, and Derek’s family-”

Derek’s large, hot hand landed firmly across his mouth. “Things are different than they were before Stiles messed with that.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Deaton agreed. “But nothing is strong enough to alter the past. Just imagine the destruction that could cause. No, the two of you were merely swept into a parallel reality, one that aligned with the wishes you made.”

Stiles pried Derek’s hand off his face. This was important, damn it. “Are you telling me that if I reverse this, then my mother will still be alive here? I won’t be killing her again?”

Derek frowned at him and pulled him close to his side. “No,” Deaton shook his head, “you won’t hurt her by going back to your own reality.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Deaton held up a hand. “The second thing I can tell you is that neither Stiles’ spark, nor Derek’s power as an alpha, could have ignited the spell. The will had to come from both of you. Which would explain Stiles’ current predicament, as I assume he never intended to wish himself out of being.”

It was times like this that Stiles thought Deaton only helped them because he loved dribbling out bits of information at a time, leaving them squirming and waiting for more. No wonder Derek didn’t like dealing with him.

“Thirdly,” Deaton said, “as you’ve already discovered, I don’t have the piece in this reality. But!” he interrupted Stiles’ questions, “I can have it here by this evening. Come back at moonrise if you still wish to return to your own reality.”

“I don’t understand,” Derek said, like he was chewing on glass. “Why would my wish make Stiles… go away?”

“I can only guess as to why your wishes combined to bring you to this reality, versus another,” Deaton said. “But…” he trailed off and went into his office, emerging again with his laptop. “Ten years ago, a small boy was hit by a drunk driver. The driver was Kate Argent, a family I like to keep tabs on. The boy was the son of one of our police officers, last name of Stilinski.”

Derek’s muscles were so hard under Stiles’ hands that he could have been turned to stone. 

“She was sentenced to ten to fifteen years for manslaughter. I assume these names mean something to both of you.”

And of course it all made sense. Kate never had the chance to seduce Derek and use him to get close to the Hales; she’d been rotting in prison for killing Stiles. No Hale fire meant no psychotic Peter, which meant Scott would never be bitten; both of their wishes granted. He turned a shocked face to Derek. 

“Fix it,” Derek ground out. “I don’t care what it takes.” Then he stalked out, leaving Stiles in his wake.

“Hey, Doc,” Stiles hesitated, staring after Derek, “I actually had another question. You said it took both of us to make the spell work. Is there a way that just one of us could go back? I mean,” he trailed off. “Derek, he lost a lot, you know? I don’t want him to have to give it all up again, just because,” he flailed, at a loss for words.

“Perhaps you should talk with Derek about that,” Deaton suggested.

“Right, but he’s, like the king of martyrdom,” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Nonetheless,” Deaton said, guiding him to the door. “And in a similar vein, I have an assistant about your age, by the name of Scott. He comes after school and volunteers with the animals. He seems… very lonely. I think that if he could make any kind of wish, it would have been for a friend like you.”

Stiles nodded and cleared his throat. Damn allergies. 

“Oh, and Stiles?” Deaton said, holding the door for him. “Ms. Argent recently made parole. I believe she’s back in Beacon Hills, and is staying with her father. Now then, I’ll see you this evening.”

Derek was pacing in front of the Camaro. While Stiles was still blinking the sun out of his eyes, Derek turned, zeroed in on him, and wow, here he was, slammed up against the car, just like old times. “I thought we’d moved past this phase of our relationship,” he joked weakly.

“Why would you want to leave me behind?” Derek growled. “Haven’t I been a good alpha to you? Is it the kissing? Or do you honestly think I’d throw you under the bus to fix my own damn fuck-ups?” And underneath the anger, where Stiles was learning to look, there was a world of confusion and hurt, and no, that just wasn’t right.

He leaned forward and sealed his mouth to Derek’s, refusing to stop kissing him until the angry lines relaxed into something soft and pliant. “I’m sorry,” Stiles panted. “I’m a dumbass. I thought you might want to stay, that’s all. I haven’t changed my mind. God, we haven’t even gotten to the naked parts, yet.” He fused his mouth to Derek’s again, taking the opportunity to rub himself up against Derek’s amazing abs.

“Of course I’m coming back with you,” Derek growled, biting at his mouth. “Somewhere, in some reality, my betas are wondering where the hell their alpha is, and Scott’s probably lost down a well.” He swallowed Stiles’ huff of laughter. “I don’t feel like I belong here, Stiles,” he confessed.

And fuck, that was just, Stiles could barely understand the kind of self-hatred and love, all mixed together, that that implied. Stiles tilted his head back, silently asking Derek to kiss his neck.

Derek helped out by grabbing Stiles’ ass in both hands and grinding up against him, making Stiles’ head loll back with pleasure. He was so hard he was leaking, and Christ, he just needed a little more pressure.

Derek broke off and buried his face in Stiles hair, his shoulders shaking. Stiles blinked in lust-fogged confusion, and finally registered the lady’s Pomeranian at Derek’s ankles, yapping and growling as hard as it could. 

Derek lifted his head, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face, his smile wide and bright enough to ignite the fucking sun. Stiles made a wounded noise, like he’d been punched in the gut, and promised himself he’d make Derek smile like that again, as often as possible.


	6. Serve and Protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek faces his father issues, Stiles grows into his inheritance, and there's a whole lot of fur and fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this last chapter ran more than twice as long as the rest. But darn it, I said 6 chapters, so it’s all going to fit in this last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read, enjoyed, and let me know it. If there's interest, an outline for a sequel has spawned itself on my desktop. :)

Derek eyed Stiles out of the corner of his eye, waiting for it. The teen’s heartbeat was slowly accelerating, his scent a tad sharper. Three, two, one…

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back? I mean, there’s a ton of reasons we should just stay put, most of them starting and ending with your family.” Stiles gestured out his window. “Oh look, the library’s hosting a book swap. We should stay just for that.”

Derek rolled his eyes, taking the turn for the winding road out of town. “You know why we have to go back. Stop being such a baby.”

“Hey, I resent that! I’m just looking after the welfare of our _pack_.” Stiles probably meant it to be funny or sarcastic, but hearing the words out of Stiles’ own mouth chased warm thrills down Derek’s spine. “I’ve given this a ton of thought, dude, and I really, really think we should stay here.”

“And I think we should go back, and I’m the alpha.” Derek tried to suppress a smirk at Stiles’ groan. 

“That doesn’t mean you get veto power!”

“Actually, that’s exactly what it means,” Derek pointed out.

“Not when your plans are dumb and may involve bodily harm!” Stiles’ gestures were getting wilder, but were still confined to his side of the car, so he was probably more pissed off at losing the argument than afraid for their safety. When the rearview mirror started to be in danger, then Derek would worry.

“I’m not camping out at Deaton’s _or_ the public library until moonrise. Besides, there’s things I want to ask my dad. It’s probably going to be my last chance.”

Stiles went still, then reached a tentative hand to Derek’s shoulder. “How’re you gonna ask him alpha stuff without tipping him off?” Again, the words sounded like a challenge, but his voice was soft, and the warmth from his hand bled through Derek’s shirt.

“I’m not sure,” Derek finally confessed, slowing down for the bumpy driveway leading into the woods. “He never took it well before, when I tried to ask about alpha business. He accused me of forgetting my place in the pack.” Derek grimaced. “Then he kicked my ass. It took days for the claw marks to heal.”

“Christ,” Stiles choked. “You werewolves are really fucked up sometimes.”

“It’s not a beta’s job to question his alpha,” Derek recited. That’s how he’d been raised, and how he’d been trying to run his betas. Problem was, they weren’t responding to it any better than he had as a teen, when he’d been rebellious enough under his father’s iron grip to sneak out and date a hunter’s daughter.

In hindsight, maybe trying to replicate his dad’s style as an alpha could have some drawbacks.

Stiles was still huffing and rolling his eyes at Derek as they passed a car driving away from the Hale house. The windows were tinted, but a familiar whiff of perfume sent a surge of rage through him.

“Um, whoa dude. Sorry to speak ill of your dad, no need to go all wolfy on me.”

“That was Kate,” Derek snarled, his hands changing to claws on the steering wheel. “What the hell was she doing out here?”

“Oh crap, your family!”

Derek floored the accelerator, straining his hearing ahead of them even as they fishtailed up the drive. He slid to a stop in front of the, blessedly intact, house. “They’re alright,” he growled, panting in anger. He snapped his jaws, suddenly furious with them. “They don’t know we’re out here. They’re not even listening for danger.”

“I know you had some father-son bonding time in mind, but Derek, we’ve gotta warn them.”

“You think?” Derek growled, trying to find his anchor. His father’s scent was overwhelming and pushing at his control. A deep, primal part of Derek snarled that the pack alpha was getting old, not paying enough attention to his territory, and it was time to challenge his father for dominance before it was too late.

But no, he couldn’t get anything done if he burst into the house like this. He reached for the anger that had been his constant companion since the fire. He focused on the loss of his family, as he had thousands of times, to anchor his humanity and help him force back the change.

“Derek, yo, D-man. Derek!” Stiles yelped at him, and he realized that his claws were changing even further, growing massive, with long, dark fur running down his arms. His face felt strange, his whole body seeming to swell and bulk with rage. 

Derek inhaled sharply, and the sour tang of Stiles’ fear made his rage burn hotter. Something had made Stiles afraid. His father’s scent was everywhere, his _father_ had made Stiles afraid. His rage erupted out of him, swelling his body with power. He felt his humanity slipping further away on a wave of aggression and violence. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. Whatever she’s gonna do, we’ll stop her.” 

His long, furred ears twitched at the noise. Not a fear-sound. He snapped his head towards the human-scent, wrinkling his muzzle to display his teeth. Warm brown eyes stared back, afraid, and yet not. Defiant, but not challenging. The human-scent was familiar. Not-a-threat-safe. Pack-safe. Shaking fingertips reached out to graze the fur on the back of his arm, and he shivered but didn’t need to lash out. The grooming continued, and now he felt confused, which meant he was thinking, again. He was _Derek_ again.

“You okay in there, big guy? Want me to call a barber for you? I know this guy, he does house calls. Very reliable.”

Holy hell, it was working. He felt the change slowly recede, like the tide going out. For long minutes Stiles dragged his fingers with, then against the grain of Derek’s fur, his fear-scent fading to curiosity. With each pass, Derek felt more in control. Greatly daring, he turned his right hand over, palm up, and felt something vital click into place when Stiles threaded his human fingers between Derek’s claws.

“Ok, so you’re not growling anymore,” Stiles continued in that soft voice. “No growling is good. I feel like we’re heading in the right direction, here. Maybe, if you feel like using your actual words, you could tell me, you know, what the hell?”

Derek dropped his head back to the seat rest. He grimaced, his mouth mostly human again. It was easier to talk with Stiles’ hand in his, not having to look at anything but the ceiling. “I lost control. That was the alpha form. Or at least, I was on the way to it.”

“Um, no offense, but I distinctly remember you telling Scott that you never lost control of your wolf. What about your anchor of broody rage?”

Derek snorted in contempt at his own arrogance. “The alpha form is pure rage. With Kate endangering my family, my anchor just drove me closer to it.” He slid his thumb along Stiles’ and decided to take a chance; the biggest one since Kate. “I needed a new anchor.”

“Oh.” Derek risked a look at Stiles, who was staring at their clasped hands, eyes wide.

“Ready to go talk with my father?” Derek’s voice still sounded hoarse, but his hand was human, and only a little shaky, by the time he brought their joined fingers to his lips. Stiles’ gob-smacked expression was a thing of beauty. 

*_*_*

So, wow. Holy freaking what the hell. Stiles touched his hand where Derek had kissed it, blushing hard. A couple of the Hales gave him odd looks, but he ignored them. In the space of thirty-six hours he’d gone from being a sometime reluctant ally and admirer-from-afar of Derek’s abs, to being a pack mate, a snuggle buddy, an aspiring romantic partner, and now Derek’s anchor? 

Was this going too fast? Sure there’d been some awesome making-out in the car, but now it was clear there were _feelings_ involved. Big, soothe the savage beast type feelings. Was he remotely ready for that kind of commitment? Should he have tried to hop off the werewolf express at some point along the way? He looked over to where Derek was arguing with Bill in whispers, and noticed the rest of the Hales giving Derek flat looks. 

Hell no. Derek needed at least one person in the world, or in any world, who wasn’t gonna bail on him the minute he bared his soft, wolfy little underbelly. And at this point, Stiles might actually cry if he had to watch someone else take the job. Derek was his, um, his something. Boyfriend, maybe? Whatever the werewolf equivalent was? Whatever they were, it meant that he wasn’t backing down from this.

Speaking of not backing down, it seemed like neither Derek, nor his dad, were planning on it, either. He drifted closer, a little surprised when the Hales shifted to make room for him. 

“You don’t understand, Dad,” Derek was saying, his voice low and urgent. “I’m telling you, Kate Argent is dangerous.”

“Don’t you try to tell an alpha how to run his pack, boy,” Bill growled back. “I’ve been handling the hunters in this town since before your mother whelped you. I think I can handle one little human girl.”

“She doesn’t follow the code,” Derek snarled, his voice getting louder. “She’ll play you, and use everything she finds to destroy us.”

“How dare you,” Bill roared, and oh fuck, he was starting to wolf-out.

“Don’t do this, Dad,” Derek gritted, his head low but his eyes locked onto Bill’s. “Please, just listen-“

“Are you challenging me, boy?” Bill roared, his canines growing, scruff spreading down his face. “I’ll show you to respect your alpha!” 

Stiles watched in horror as Bill swiped a clawed hand at Derek’s head. The impact was so hard that Derek reeled, and when he looked up, his own eyes were burning bright red. 

Bill reared back in shock, then bellowed a challenge. The entire Hale pack howled in response, and Derek dropped to a crouch, in beta form and ready to spring.

“No!” Stiles shouted, acting on instinct and throwing himself at Derek. He grabbed the scruff on Derek’s face and tumbled onto his back, dragging Derek’s head around with him. “It’s your dad!” he yelled into Derek’s pained, snarling face, looping his legs around Derek to anchor him with his body. 

Derek tilted his head at Stiles, and some of the murderous rage left his expression. He snapped his jaws irritably, and Stiles eased up on the hair pulling. Then a snarl from behind made Derek growl in renewed fury, and he moved with animalistic intensity, crouching protectively over Stiles.

“Can’t even keep one scrawny human in line,” Bill snarled. “You’re a disgrace to me and this family.” He started circling Derek, looking for an opening, and oh fuck, oh fucking fucking fuck!

“William Hale,” a sharp, old voice cracked across Bill’s back like a whip. The older alpha actually flinched from it. The bent old granny wolf pushed her way to the front, her eyes glowing like hot, gold embers.

“If that boy meant to challenge you he’d have done it when he first showed up, two days ago.” Derek and Stiles stared at her, along with everyone else in the room. “Don’t gape at me, young man,” she snapped at Derek. “I know an alpha when I smell one, even if the rest of you,” she pointed her finger at the pack, “are too complacent to see what’s under your own noses.”

“Mother,” Bill growled warningly, and Stiles was about ready to pee himself from fighting back hysterical laughter.

“Explain yourself,” she ordered Derek, raising that one eyebrow that seemed to be a Hale specialty.

“Ma’am,” Stiles jumped in, still twisted under Derek and anchoring as hard as he could. “We’re actually from an alternate reality. There was this spell, and really it was all my fault-“

“Our fault,” Derek growled, glaring under the arm he had braced over Stiles. He looked back to Bill and the scary, scary granny wolf. 

“In my reality, I allowed Kate Argent to use me. I was fifteen,” Derek spat, the self-disgust clear in every line in his body. “She used me to get close to the family, then one night, set a fire. Only Laura and I got out.”

There was murmuring and shifting around them. Bill rose from his crouch, the hair and claws melting away. Derek stayed on the floor, balanced over Stiles. Surprisingly, or maybe not for a family of freaking werewolves, no one was calling bullshit on the story. Hell, maybe this sort of thing happened to these guys all the time. 

Bill gave a long, assessing stare at Derek, then glanced around the room at his waiting pack. Granny wolf stared Bill down, until he blinked and dropped his eyes.

“Very well,” he conceded. “We’ll prepare for them, and wait till tonight. When they come, we’ll be ready for them.”

The pack growled approvingly around him, like he was some sort of master tactician. Stiles seriously thought he was going to bust something.

“Oh my god. How stupid are you people?” 

Everyone whipped around to growl at him, and Derek started rumbling over Stiles again.

“Seriously, we’re talking humans, here. They don’t see at night as well as you do. You’re already in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like they have to sneak around to avoid being caught. The only reason they attacked at night, last time, was to make sure that everyone was in the house. Well, guess what? Kate was just here, and she already knows that!”

Stiles wanted to pace, to get up and gesture furiously to make his point, but was hampered by Derek’s bulk still pinning him down.

Everyone seemed shocked at Stiles’ outburst, except Granny wolf. Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s face from where he was, but he bet it was set in the stubborn, unhappy look he got when he knew Stiles was right.

Bill stared into Stiles’ eyes, like he was trying to use his alpha powers to force Stiles to submit. And you know? Screw that. He had all he could handle with one alpha Hale, thank you very much. He stared back from under Derek’s armpit, and Bill actually looked a little impressed.

“Please, Dad,” Derek added, his voice quiet. 

Bill frowned, then stood up straight. “Alright,” he barked. “Everyone out!”

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement, as though they were spring-loaded and just waiting for the word. Adults scooped up the kids, and everyone was wolfed-out, down to the baby in his onesie. Derek scooped Stiles up, and seriously? He was definitely better able to run for his life than a freaking toddler, and the entire pack swarmed out a back door that Stiles had no clue was even there.

They high-tailed it to the woods behind the house, then formed ranks, panting and shifting with suppressed energy. One minute went by, then two, and Stiles started to feel very uncomfortable. “Well,” he said brightly, swinging his hands. “Who wants a picnic?”

The Hale house fucking _exploded_. The shockwave blasted out from the house, and Derek threw himself over Stiles as deadly debris sliced at them. 

Stiles’ ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, but he couldn’t help but hear the combined roar from Derek and Bill. They screamed their challenge into the clear, summer afternoon, and the rest of their pack howled for blood around them. Peter, who was already halfway down the drive, howled in triumph at finding the scent, and led the pack on the hunt. 

“Stay here,” Derek growled at him, then loped off to help defend his family.

And really, it was almost like Derek didn’t know him. He snorted and dragged his dirty, shaky self off the ground, running on unsteady legs to one of the cleared paths. He dropped to his knees and scrabbled at the ground until his fingers caught at the hidden latch. With a heave, he pulled the trap door open, revealing an impressive collection of guns and wolfsbane-filled ammo.

Two weeks ago, when Derek was forcing sullen teens to clear these same woods, he was also restocking these same weapons caches. “They’re so the humans and children can defend our pack, as well as the adults.” Erica had sneered, and said the only baby they had to worry about was Scott. Derek had thrown her against a tree to make her pay attention.

Thank god Derek was a sucker for tradition.

Stiles checked and loaded a rifle, sliding the sight into place. His hands were quick and competent, long fingers easy with familiarity. This, too, had been a gift from his father, who also believed in being prepared to defend his family.

He slung the rifle by its strap, running as fast as he could through the trees. He could hear the pack ahead of him, snarling and howling. There was a concussive blast, then another, and fucking hell, were those grenades?

He stopped, panting hard, and closed his eyes to better visualize the property. If he remembered the training sessions correctly… he dropped to all fours and slithered his way through the woods. He felt a quietness drop over him like a blanket, and his body went somehow calm and still, even as he crept forward. In the distance, the pack continued their battle, but he was hunting his own prey.

A taste on the wind made the hair on his neck stand up, and he froze, instinctively opening his mouth to get a better sense of it. Old spice, cracked pepper, and gun oil.

Smooth as a dream, the bullet snicked into place in the chamber. Stiles sighted down the long barrel and breathed out. There, between his cross hairs, was Gerard Argent, staring down his own sights at the werewolves in the distance. 

For a minute, Stiles hesitated. This wasn’t what his father had taught him to use a gun for. Gerard was just some old dude, a wrinkled, angry old man. What was Stiles even doing here?

Then Abby, Peter’s ten year-old daughter, broke into view. Gerard shifted eagerly, and Stiles knew. He knew it in the way he knew the warmth of the sun on his skin, or Derek’s growl in his bones. He knew that Gerard would kill the weakest pack member first, to draw Bill into his sights.

This was what Stiles’ father had taught him. Serve and protect. He pulled the trigger.

*_*_*

Derek snapped his head around, sensitive ears twitching at the gunshot. He scented the air, thick with explosives and burning, and caught Stiles’ scent. He snarled, torn between rushing to him and staying to defend his old pack. 

“Go,” his dad appeared at his side. “We’ve got this.” He grinned a feral smile at Derek, then loped back to the fight, where their family was dismembering the hunters that had dared to attack them on their own territory. He had one second to see Kate being swarmed under by Laura and Peter, then turned away. Time to let the past take care of the past.

He dropped to all fours, claws digging into the loamy earth, hurtling his body towards Stiles. He couldn’t smell Stiles’ blood, but in the confusion of battle, things were easy to miss. If he was hurt, Christ, he’d better not be hurt.

He slid to a halt, sure that he was close, but unable to find the source. His ears were still healing from the concussive force of the grenades, and his nose was full of smoke and fire. He threw his head back and howled for his pack, and from a dozen yards away Stiles rose from the ground like a predator himself, smooth and dangerous.

Derek barreled into him and held him close. “I heard the gunshot,” he snarled around his teeth. “Was that you?”

“Yeah.” Stiles pointed, and in the distance Derek could smell Gerard, and gunpowder, and death. Stiles grinned a cocky smirk, but his face was pale and his hands were shaking. Derek took his dirty, smudged hands in his claws and brought the fingers to his mouth. 

“For what you’ve given to my family today, thank you.” The formal words rolled off his tongue, though it’d been years since his Granny had taught them. Then he used his grip to pull Stiles close, and kissed his temple.

Stiles’ breath caught on a sob, then evened out. “C’mon, Romeo. I think the fight’s almost over.”

Derek pulled Stiles close, the rifle looped over his other shoulder, and walked at human speeds back to the battle. It would be over by the time they arrived, which was good. As of now, it was no longer something he needed to fight.

*_*_*

So apparently, Kate and her cronies from prison had thought they could watch the Hale house from a couple of miles down the road, drinking beer and roasting marshmallows, or some shit. Gerard had been the only one with half a brain, insisting on waiting further in the trees after setting off the detonator.

Stiles despaired of their entire family. Really, if this was the Argent’s ‘A’ game, he wondered how they’d survived this long, gunning for Derek’s kind.

Bill approached him and Derek as they walked into the clearing. He was covered in blood and other unnamable things, and Stiles tried not to stare at whatever was caught in his teeth. He stopped in front of Derek, staring him in the eyes, and for a minute Stiles was afraid they were going to pick up right where they’d left off. Then he clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“You saved us, son. Whatever happened when you were a boy, you’ve obviously used it to become a good leader; one who knows when to listen to his pack.” He nodded at Stiles, then squeezed Derek’s shoulder, his claws still bloody on his shirt.

“Your slate is clean, son. I’m proud of you.”

Derek wiped some not-sweat out of his eyes, and Stiles looked away, knowing how annoying that could get when someone caught you at it. He cleared his throat, staring off into the distance. “Hate to interrupt, but it’s starting to get dark. And me and Derek, we’ve got an appointment at Deaton’s.”

Derek gave him a squeeze, then released him and walked with Bill back to his family, holding faces and hugging dirty, healing bodies close to him for the last time. Stiles was glad they weren’t looking at him, since he was wiping away some not-sweat, too.

Now that all the fighting was over, he heard on the still summer air: “You could stay with us, son. There’s a place here for you.”

Derek looked over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Stiles. “No, dad. Mom. I’ve got my own pack waiting for me. They need me.” And he smiled.

*_*_*

Deaton’s office was dark and quiet. Stiles was exhausted, curled up against Derek’s side and soaking up his warmth. Deaton was doing something with chanting and sacred oils, and normally Stiles would be afire with curiosity. Right now he was wondering if he could sneak in a nap.

“Hey,” Derek nudged him, pressing his lips against Stiles’ temple in what was fast becoming Stiles’ favorite thing ever. “Tell me about your mother.”

“Um,” Stiles blinked sleepily. “Don’t ask, don’t tell?”

“Not a chance,” Derek replied. A week ago, Stiles knew he’d have shut down like a fortress after being rebuffed, and they wouldn’t have spoken again until the next time they had to save each other’s assess. Now Derek just huffed and poked at Stiles’ side. 

“Fine,” Stiles caved. He was quiet a moment, remembering. “She was always really patient with me. Like, not just putting up with me being a spaz, but she seemed to get a kick out me. Like she really…”

“Loved you,” Derek finished, nuzzling at his temple.

“Yeah.” Stiles throat was closing up. “When I was ten, we were driving home from the store. I’d been bugging her all day for something stupid. I don’t even remember what it was anymore. She didn’t buy it for me.” He sighed, remembering. “I was so mad at her, you know? I was messing around in the car, blaring the radio, that kind of thing.

“I never knew if I’d distracted her so much that we were in the wrong lane, or if the car was in ours and she didn’t see it in time to avoid it. Either way, I got her killed because I didn’t know how to sit still and be quiet.”

Stiles let the silence stretch between them, for once trusting that the person sharing it with him would understand. Finally, Derek spoke.

“You know that sometimes bad things happen, and they’re not always your fault, right?”

Stiles gave a tiny huff of laughter, and looked up into Derek’s eyes. “I’ll start to believe that when you do.”

Derek smiled a wry little smile, and kissed him.

*_*_*

Stiles burrowed into his soft mattress, face smashed into his pillow. He heaved a big sigh, then froze, and slowly cracked open one eye. He immediately slammed it shut, then opened two.

His room was just like he remembered. His laptop was humming to itself on his desk, and he just about cried in joy when he snatched his phone off the bedside table. 

“Come to daddy, you glorious, beautiful thing,” he crooned. Then he froze for the second time in a minute when he heard a snort from behind him. “Don’t tell me I have to compete with that thing, now.” A slow smile spread across his face. 

“Depends. Can you cook?”

A strong, muscled arm came into his line of sight and wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush with Derek’s body. “No,” Derek confessed, nuzzling his hair. “But I am good for other things.”

“Stiles!” his dad shouted from downstairs. “I’m leaving for work. Don’t stay in bed all day just because it’s summer!” 

Stiles grinned harder, watching the way the tree outside his window swayed in the breeze. “Sure thing, dad,” he called back.

Derek grunted and kissed his neck, burying his face between Stiles’ shoulders. “You need a bigger bed,” he complained.

And yeah, maybe things were never going to be perfect. Scott was still a werewolf, Derek still had to say goodbye to his entire family, and Stiles’ mom was still gone. But of all the possible realities out there, he decided this was a pretty good one to have.

 

\--epilogue

 

Elsewhere, Derek blinked his eyes open, still groggy with sleep. Christ, what a strange dream. He knew he’d been harboring some resentments for the way his dad ran the pack, but he never thought he’d fantasize about being an alpha himself. Laura was the next in line, after all, and as much as they bickered, he didn’t want to challenge her for it.

There’d been more, too. He remembered a pair of huge, honey colored eyes and a mouth that just wouldn’t quit, and felt a terrible pang in his chest that he’d never see them in his waking life.

He blinked again, and realized that he was lying half on and half under a sleeping pile of his family. What was going on? They never slept outside unless it was the night of a moon-run. He shifted enough to raise his head, and saw the destroyed remains of the house in the distance. What the hell? But it was all just a dream. It couldn’t have been real. Could it?

His family shifted and rumbled around him, safe and warm, but the warmth didn’t touch the ache in his chest. If everything else had actually happened, then Stiles…

Derek clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing blue. Deaton said a lot of things, and he’d learned over the years that the man picked and chose the truths he shared. It was impossible to change the past? Maybe. But then again, Derek might not be an alpha, but he was damned if he wouldn’t find some way to bring his own Stiles back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I get kinda triggery with amnesia fics. It's like somehow the characters are robbed of something that makes them who they are. I don't know if I'm the only one, but just in case, this is sort of an anti-amnesia fic where Derek and Stiles remember even though no one else does.


End file.
